A Mirror of Being
by alliterator
Summary: - "We should be a mirror of being: we are God in miniature." Friedrich Nietzsche
1. Prologue: The Clock Struck Twenty Minute...

A Mirror of Being

Prologue: "The Clock Struck Twenty Minutes to Six"

Written by alliterator

Thanks to babies-stole-my-dingo, my awesome beta reader!

4

Newton's Third Law states that for every force in the Universe to occur, it must have an equal force that is opposite it. This is called a symmetry principle and it is one of the fundamental laws of the Universe. It is also a fundamental law of the Multiverse.

This story is about Newton's Third Law. It is also about symmetry. But mainly, this is story is about when a person wakes up in the morning and looks in the mirror and sees a completely different person than the one that went to bed last night.

3

It is not widely known that there is more than one version of Evil. There is chaotic, ever-changing Evil, which follows no rules or boundaries or laws and there is the orderly Evil, which does follow rules – but only those it makes up.

It is most widely agreed, with those who have encountered both the chaotic Evil and orderly Evil, that order is the more effective and therefore, more evil of the two.

Which is why the little girl in the White Room in Wolfram & Hart was worried. Her name, though few knew it, was Mesekh-tet and she had been chosen to be the Senior Partners connection to their Earthly servants.

The reason she was worried was because a butterfly had flapped its wings.

Perhaps an explanation is in order. There is a question which refers to the predictability of chaos: "Does the flap of a butterfly's wings in Brazil set off a tornado in Texas?" Of course, this is a metaphorical butterfly with metaphorical wings. It doesn't have to be a butterfly, it can be anything.

A stone skipping in a pond. A woman laughing. A fight between gangs.

A dark spell. A resurrection.

In the blindingly bright White Room, where men go mad, Mesekh-tet shivered. She did not like Chaos. And the butterfly was flying.

2

Three years ago, there was no mental ward at the Sunnydale Hospital. If a patient came in, they were transferred to a place in Los Angeles if they had enough money, released to the public if they didn't. But that was before Glory. Before she dug her fingers into the heads of so many people and fed upon something most precious: sanity.

Now, there is a whole wing. After finding all of the patients wandering the streets one night (their hands cut, their clothes dirty, and what was that tower doing there, was it there before?) extra security was added. An orderly is kept at the door at all times. Most of the beds have restraints.

Matthew Price was there now. He was one of Glory's victims – one of the ones that survived the Queller, that is – and his mind is shattered. There was a time when he ran a successful business, but that time is past. His wife used to visit him everyday, until she got tired of the rantings and ravings of a madman and went home weeping and never returned.

In the still of night, Matthew feels around his bed. He had saved a paperclip, stolen from a nurse's desk, and he twists it now into unnatural shapes. He twists it around and around. It is like he is; bendable, but if you twist it out of shape too much, it will snap.

Matthew is about to snap like the paperclip. It is at that moment, that he feels something. It's not completely there yet, but he can still feel it. It's from… someplace else. And it's coming here. Matthew knows this just like he knew to go to Glory that night. Because whatever is coming, he knows what it is. It is like Glory.

It will consume this sane world and make it like him. It will shatter all it touches.

And in the dead of night, Matthew smiles as he finally breaks the paperclip.

1

They call this time Indian summer. It's that tranquil time at the beginning of autumn, right after the raging heat of summer, but before the calm winds of fall. This is a time of transition, a time where things are no longer what they were, but not what they will be yet. The caterpillars are in their cocoons, the birds are preparing to go south, and there is something in the air. It's foreboding.

Buffy Summers doesn't dream. Between her daily work as a (now former) college student and her nightly work as the Vampire Slayer, she has, at most, three hours of sleep each night. It's enough for her.

But in those three hours, she doesn't dream. Neither does she have nightmares. What she sees in those three hours is worse than nightmares – premonitions of the future, visions of the past, specters of the present. By the time she wakes up, she can understand none of them and goes about her day thinking they are nothing but the reveries of a vivid imagination that's seen – and killed – one too many nasty demons.

But sometimes there are premonitions which stand out, which are different than the rest. Events so momentous, so life changing – for hers or for others – that they become larger and stick out in her sleep.

One is happening now:

Nighttime. The cold stillness of the night makes the skin of Buffy's arms tingle. Something's out there. Something's coming for her. But what? She can't see up ahead, but she can see what's behind her. The road she has already taken.

Lights turn on and she can suddenly see something. The road ahead of her is blocked… with bodies. She can make out dozens of bodies lined up, their blood making the road underneath slick. She walks forward to look at their faces. Willow. Xander. Giles. Dawn. Every single one of her friends and family are there, their frozen faces glaring at her, their eyes cold marbles.

"Have some respect for the dead, luv," a voice says. Buffy looks through the bodies until she recognizes where the voice comes from; Spike, who's lying on his side, blood dribbling from his mouth and nose. "Why don't you leave us be? Why can't you let us go?"

"What are you talking about?" Buffy says.

"You know," Spike says. His arm suddenly moves and she sees he's gripping a wooden stake. "If you're here, that means it's won. So why won't you leave?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," Buffy says.

"Of course you don't, pet," Spike says. He motions to her with the stake. "You know, while you're here, you could do me a favor. For old times sake."

"What?" Buffy asks.

"End it, please," Spike says. "Don't you think I've gone on long enough? Just end it." He holds up the stake.

Buffy slowly takes the stake from his blood-slick hand. Panic courses through her body as she grips it and out of reflex, she thrusts it forward.

"Thanks, luv," Spike says, "Knew I could count on you." His body slowly turns to dust in front of her eyes.

And in the cool night of an Indian summer, Buffy wakes in a cold sweat.

0

I dreamed a dream next Tuesday

Week beneath the apple tree;

I thought my eyes were big pork-pies,

And my nose was Stilton cheese.

The clock struck twenty minutes to six

When a frog sat on my knee;

I asked him to lend me eighteen pence,

But he borrowed a shilling of me.

- a children's rhyme


	2. Chapter One: As the Days Lengthen

A Mirror of Being

Chapter One: "As the Days Lengthen"

Written by alliterator

Thanks to babies-stole-my-dingo, my awesome beta reader!

The mask was exquisite and beautiful. It was painted white, with strips of red going down each side and its shape was not a straight oval, but rather twisted, curved somewhat so that it looked like it had melted. But it was beautiful, nonetheless.

_I wonder if Giles will like it?_ Buffy thought. She took a quick look at the price tag and thought, _He can't afford to like it. Yikes._

Buffy turned away from the mask and walked to the area where the antiques were on sale. That was what brought this place to her attention – there was a BIG SALE sign in the window (plus, Dawn was now consuming large quantities of ice cream in the shop across the street).

_What would Giles like? A book? No, he has plenty of books. How about a nice backscratcher? Yeah, right._

"Can I help you look for anything?" the proprietor said. He was a fifty-ish man wearing a grey sweater with a nametag pinned on it. Buffy glanced at it.

"Mr. Apollinax?" she read.

"Yes, that's me," the proprietor said.

"Well," Buffy said, "you wouldn't know what a, say, fifty-year-old British man would like for his birthday, would you?"

Mr. Apollinax scratched his chin and then said, "I don't know. We have some very nice dressers over there. And if he likes antique tables – pre-Civil War, you know?"

"Actually, I think he would prefer something pre-Civilization," Buffy said. "But I'll go and check out…"

It was then that the handheld mirror caught her attention. Its surface looked like a pool of water that never moved, never rippled. "What's that?" she asked.

Mr. Apollinax followed her gaze and looked over to the mirror. "Oh, that! Well, that's just an old piece of junk someone gave us. I don't really think you'd be interested in it." Buffy walked over to where it was and picked it up. "But," Mr. Apollinax said, "if you're interested that handle is made from real, uh, copper. And you can see how much work the designer put into it."

Buffy didn't look at the handle. She only looked at her reflection, entranced by something. Her reflection… her reflection was looking at her. Her reflection was… smiling at her?

"Buffy?" Dawn's voice dragged her out of the state she was in.

"Dawn," Buffy said, turning around. "I thought you were at the ice cream parlor?"

"Yeah, well, I was tired of waiting for you," Dawn said. "And I finished my double-chocolate chip scoop. What's that?" Dawn motioned towards the mirror. Buffy pulled it away.

"Just… just something I was thinking of getting Giles," she said.

Dawn reached forward and took the mirror out of Buffy's hands. "Pretty cool," she said. "Although I don't think Giles particularly likes looking at his reflection that much."

Buffy wondered why Dawn wasn't having the same reaction the mirror as she was. Didn't she see how her reflection stared back at her? Didn't she see it?

Or maybe I'm going crazy, Buffy thought. Maybe I'm a few fries short of a Happy Meal, a few crayons short of a whole set. Buffy set the mirror down on the table she had found it on and walked to Mr. Apollinax. "Do you happen to have any old books here?" she asked. Mr. Apollinax pointed her to a shelf of old and musty books. Just what Giles wants, Buffy thought.

Walking out of the antique shop, Buffy put the bag with the book carefully into her purse. She felt a weight in her coat pocket then and removed the mirror, blinking in surprise. Weird, Buffy thought. I'm sure I put that back on the table. I better go back in and give it back.

But she didn't. Something compelled her to put the mirror in her purse and then she said to Dawn, "We better go back to where Xander is picking us up. We don't want him to wait for long."

And on the horizon, the sun set and night quickly approached.

---

_mirrorrorrimirrorrirromorrirrorrim_

_see she is here is she see she has come has she the one who is chosen is who one the when will the time be time the will when she will know will she_

_all we do is wait is do we all we must wait must we until it is time is it until when will it be time it will when the mirror is broken is mirror the_

_soon it will be time be will it soon_

_good good_

_mirrorrorrimirrorrirromorrirrorrim_

---

As the days lengthen,

So the storms strengthen.

- a children's rhyme


	3. Chapter Two: In the Twilight West Now

A Mirror of Being

Chapter Two: "In the Twilight West Now"

Written by alliterator

Thanks to babies-stole-my-dingo, my awesome beta reader!

_Eyes moving under water. Eyelids open, pupils dilating, color seeping out like old film. The water is no longer blue; the eyes are no longer open. The color drains from flesh, from cheeks, and the eyes are still and dead. Then, in a flurry of motion, the eyes open and… and… they are your eyes._

Buffy woke up in her bed, not knowing how she got there. She remembered getting going home and ordering pizza for dinner with Dawn and talking to Willow and then… she… what did she do? She opened her purse to pay for the pizza and there was the mirror, the mirror that she said she would return and she looked into it and she was looking back and what happened?

I must have been really tired, Buffy thought. That's why I don't remember falling asleep. That's why I didn't return that mirror.

She shook her head to wave off the residual drowsiness she had as she got up from her bed. _I'd better return it to that store tomorrow,_ she thought. _Yep, that's what I'll do. Now where did I put it?_

Looking at the clock on her dresser, she was surprised to see it was 4 a.m. She yawned as she crept into the bathroom, careful not to make too much noise, and looked into the mirror.

She didn't recognize herself at first. She chalked this up to just waking up. She blinked and shook her head a few times, trying to unfog her brain. She was successful and her reflection was suddenly recognizable. But she saw a glint out of the corner of her eye.

Looking to where it came from, she saw pieces of glass in the trash. She picked up one of the pieces and saw it was from the mirror – the one that had come from the antique store. _Oh well,_ she thought. _There goes that plan. Now, I'll probably have to pay for it._ She looked back in the trash and saw the other pieces of the mirror, including the handle and frame.

Sighing, she dumped the pieces back into the trash.

---

There are many alleyways within Sunnydale, where many things take place – usually horrific things involving creatures that invoke Lovecraftian imagery. Most citizens know to stay indoors after the sun sets (even though they won't hold the idea of vampires and demons within their minds).

However, within this one alleyway, there is no one. No vampire feeding on a helpless victim, no demon stalking his way through the city looking for the Slayer. In fact, this alleyway is absolutely empty – an unusual occurrence for Sunnydale. You could say that nothing is happening within this alley.

You'd be wrong. Something is happening: reality is bending.

Certain laws of the universe cannot be broken; however, they can be bent. Portals can bend the fabric of reality to transport people to different dimensions. A type of demon – immaterial to the touch – can literally create a tear in reality to a hell dimension unlike any other.

But that is not what is happening now. Now, two realities are touching, creating an intricate dance that is unseen by everyone and has many consequences. One of them is a creation of a new dimension that is inhabited currently by nothingness. The other is about to appear in this alleyway.

A portal opens – a strange circle of flowing energy. A woman emerges. Her feet barely touch the ground when the portal closes behind her. She looks up at the night sky and tilts her head and smiles. Her teeth are white and sharp.

Her laughter echoes through the alleyway.

---

Baby moon, 'tis time for bed,

Owlet leaves his nest now;

Hide your little horned head

In the twilight west now;

When you're old and round and bright

You shall stay and shine all night.

Baby girl is going, too,

In her bed to creep now;

She is little, just like you,

Time it is to sleep now;

When she's old and tired and wise

She'll be glad to close her eyes.

- a children's rhyme


End file.
